


Desert Melody

by vanillafluffy



Category: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors, The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Case Fic, Danger, F/M, Peril, hollywood noir, more three investigators than trixie, social mores of the 1950s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: P.I. Jupiter Jones has been hired to protect Trixie Belden, singing cowgirl, whose forthcoming movie, "Desert Melody" is being plagued by dangerous accidents. Can he and his friends Pete and Bob keep her and her co-star, the wonder horse Romeo, safe from the machinations of person or persons unknown?
Relationships: Trixie Belden/Jupiter Jones | Justus Jonas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020





	Desert Melody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> I cannot for the life of me find the original prompt that inspired this, but this has been about six months in the making. The first draft just wasn't working, so I took another run at it, and this is the result.

The picture is two columns wide, black and white. In it, a man and a woman face each other, lips only a breath apart. It’s splashed across the front page of the _Hollywood Reporter_ with the caption, “ _ **Singing Cowgirl In Clinch With Has-Been Child Star”**_.

Aghast, Jupiter Jones stares at the image. He glances up from the paper at his partner, Pete Crenshaw, who looks grim. 

“I know you’ve got a crush on her, pal,” Pete says, “but did you have to get caught kissing our client? She’s a nice dame, but there’s always a dame--you couldn’t find one that’s not dynamite?”

“We were in her backyard. Where was the photog, hanging from a tree?” Jupiter’s gaze returns to the page, and with furrowed brow, he reads the story below the picture.

_Trixie Belden, singing star of such oaters as ‘The Golden Girl of the West’, ‘Song of the Sagebrush’ and ‘The Silver Saddle’ was spotted locked in a torrid embrace with none other than former child star Jupiter Jones. Jones, whose departure from his role as buffoonish ‘Baby Fatso’ in the pre-War serial ‘The Wee Rogues’ marked the end of his acting career, fancies himself as a private eye these days--at least, that’s the capacity he’s been advertising while hanging around the set of Trixie’s current film, ‘Desert Melody’, which has been plagued by accidents…or is it a ploy for the lovebirds to spend more time together? If the darling of the Saturday matinee crowd really is in danger, let’s hope Jones can detect better than he acts._

“Unbelievable,” Jupiter growls. He hates being reminded of his days of child stardom, tragically ended by his parents’ death. The aunt and uncle who’d become his guardians had no patience with play-acting, as they’d called it.

“Did you notice the by-line?” Pete asks. 

“Norris! Why am I not surprised?” That guy’s had it in for me since we were both in short pants.” Jupiter glances around to see if anyone has been watching their conversation. “This business about the accidents on the set--that was supposed to be kept quiet. The studio isn’t going to like this.”

“What about Trixie? She’s probably getting an earful right now in wardrobe.”

They both glance toward the trailer where Trixie is being dressed and made-up for today’s scenes. Jupiter grimaces. It was one thing for him to be a detective and her protector. But a has-been? Box office poison! He’s been hired by her manager, not the studio--is he going to want to distance his star from the taint of failure?

“It was nice while it lasted,” he says with a sigh. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my mind on business after this. Still no word from Bob?”

“I talked to him before I left Rocky Beach this morning. He has an idea he wants to look into, but whatever it is, they aren’t open yet. He’ll let us know when he’s got something.”

Jupiter nods. “I hope it’s good, whatever it is. We need a break in this case.”

For the last week, they’ve been personally providing security for Trixie Belden, the starlet who’s the most popular girl in westerns since Dale Evans. Jupiter has been at Trixie’s side constantly. That they’ve grown close has been documented on page one. Pete, who works as a stuntman when he isn’t helping Jupiter with investigations, has been guarding Romeo, Trixie’s equine counterpart, while their friend Bob Andrews, a journalist, has been tasked with looking into the background of others close to the set of ‘Desert Melody’.

At that moment, the door to the wardrobe trailer opens, and two Trixies walk out. The first time, Jupiter had been startled. Now, he can tell at a glance that the taller of the two women is Trixie’s stand-in, Patsy Coltrane. Neither Trixie nor Patsy looks happy.

He strides over to them, tabloid still clutched in his hand. “We need to talk,” he says tersely.

Trixie doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “Let’s just get this darn picture wrapped. The last thing I want is to get called in for another morality lecture from that studio weasel, Snipe Thompson.”

“You know what this town is like,” her stand-in adds. “The studio doesn’t want everyone’s sweetheart having a sweetheart of her own. It might hurt ticket sales to all the fellas that daydream about her. That director just made it real clear. So no more compromising pictures, please!” 

With Trixie seated a few yards away, looking at pages from a script, Jupiter quietly asks Patsy, “How much more of the picture is left to film?”

Patsy frowns. “That’s a real good question. Nobody’s seen a complete script, just a few pages here and there. We’ve had a lot of riding and stunts and such, but I couldn’t tell you what the plot is. There’s not even a co-star--there haven’t been any scenes with enough exposition to explain the action scenes. This Hugenay, he hasn’t made any other pictures here, just in Europe, and word is, likes it there a lot better than Hollywood.”

Over the last few days, Jupe has had a chance to study Victor Hugenay, and compare his methods with what he remembers from his own days in front of the camera. At first, he was willing to cut the guy some slack, because he’s European and they may do things differently over there, but he’s finally come to the conclusion that the man doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. He’ll do a dozen takes of a scene that went flawlessly the first time, shooting it from more crazy camera angles than Orson Welles and asking for different interpretations for the scant dialog--happy, sad, serious, dramatic--as if he doesn’t know himself what he wants the finished picture to be. It’s certainly a lot of effort to put into one of a couple dozen oaters the studio will crank out this year.

Patsy is called to take her place on the set, where the cameras are being set up to film Trixie climbing onto Romeo and cantering away down the dusty street. It’s well within Trixie’s equestrienne capacity, but Patsy gets paid to sit on Romeo while the crew lines up the shot.

Trixie looks up from her script. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Jupe, I really don’t--but I can’t afford to get on a studio blacklist for moral turpitude or any of that stuff.”

He stays where he is; it’s painful, after their last few days, to be so close to her and not be able to hold her. He pitches his voice so it won’t carry beyond her. “I’m sorry, too. The last thing I’d ever want to do is get you into trouble--any kind of trouble! So, I’m going to concentrate on keeping you safe, and later we can--” Jupiter breaks off as, on the set, Romeo shies violently.

Patsy clings to the saddle-horn as the grey horse prances skittishly. Pete moves quickly forward to catch the gelding’s bridle. Trixie has jumped up and scurries over to the edgy horse, murmuring, “Whoa, Romeo! Easy there! It’s okay!”

At last, Pete has the horse by the bridle. Patsy is able to relax as Trixie strokes her horse’s neck and speaks soothingly to him. 

“There was a bright flash,” Patsy says, blinking. “Right in my eyes. No wonder Romeo spooked!”

“It could’ve been someone monkeying with a reflector,” Jupe notes. “I’d say coincidence--if it wasn’t for everything else that’s happened. Whoever is doing this is pretty sly--they haven’t done anything that can’t be explained away as an accident.”

Trixie and Jupe return to their original positions, while Pete ambles to the other side of the set, glancing at the ground around the reflector. Soon, the director is ready for Trixie to trade places with Patsy. Pete wanders over to where Jupe is standing as filming begins. 

Trixie springs into the saddle with a bounce and says her line-- “I’ll catch up with the stage!”. As she wheels the flashy grey horse to canter away down the street, Romeo jumps, comes down stiff-legged and bucks. 

Trixie does a complete somersault in mid-air and comes down flat on her back in the dusty street.

Immediately, she’s surrounded by people wanting to know if she’s okay. Trixie tries to sit up, but she’s carried into the wardrobe trailer to be checked out--the studio doctor is enroute. 

Pete has caught Romeo, who is more worked up than Jupiter has ever seen him before. As the crowd thins out, Pete and Jupe exchange glances. “Twice inside of an hour? I’m starting to wonder if this pic really is cursed,” Pete mutters.

Jupe’s keen eyes spot something in the dirt underfoot. Gingerly, he bends and picks it up--a rubber band! “I think somebody hit him with this,” he surmises. “I’d jump, too, if somebody snapped me on the fanny with that. There’s no way to prove it, though. We didn’t see it hit him, and a rubber band all by itself isn’t exactly sinister.”

“There were a couple sets of shoe prints over by that reflector,” Pete tells his partner. “Most of the crew wears tennis shoes or cowboy boots, but the footprints on top, the most recent ones, were from smooth-soled shoes, like loafers.” Pete scans the crew gathered around Hugenay. “Is it me, or does Snipe Thompson look awfully pleased with himself?” he asks in a low voice. “But he’s wearing boots--and he’s with the studio. Anyway, why would he want to see the picture fail?”

 _‘If the question is, why do they, the answer is usually money.’_ Jupiter has listened to his uncle say that most of his life, and wonders how that applies here. His first thought is insurance--but trying to injure the star is risky. The chance of permanent damage or even death is too great--unless someone is a greedy sociopath who just doesn’t care what happens to Trixie Belden!

“It could be a ploy to stir up publicity,” he suggests dubiously. “Maybe they’re trying to start rumors that ‘Desert Melody’ is jinxed to make audiences more curious about it. That might explain why the story about us got leaked--they wanted the incidents to come out. They probably thought it was going to be more of a ‘Starlet Needs Bodyguard’ kind of story--I don’t think they expected to get a so-called reporter who knew my backstory--”

“They probably didn’t know it themselves,” Pete comments. “Jones isn’t exactly an uncommon name, and you’re not exactly a chubby little kid anymore, either. But Norris went through school with us-- ** _he_** knew all about your days in the 'Wee Rogues'.”

“But the first incident--nobody could mistake Patsy for Trixie, especially with the real Trixie only a few yards away. So the mysterious flash….” Jupe bites his lower lip thoughtfully.

Pete, who knows more about the nuts and bolts of shooting westerns, nods. “Maybe they figured the way to a cowgirl is through her horse. The flash to get him nervous and the rubber band to set him off. Even if they weren’t aiming to hurt Trixie, it could certainly ruin a take. Do that enough times and he’d get more and more rattled; it could really wreck his disposition and his reputation as a performer, which would be a shame. He’s a really good boy.” He strokes Romeo’s velvety silver muzzle.

“Do you see what I see?” Jupe asks in an undertone. Pete follows Jupe’s gaze.

“Snipe Thompson getting chatty with Skinny Norris? Those two are bad enough individually--together they're really bad news.” Pete whistles. “Look--Skinny’s wearing oxfords--smooth-soled shoes! I didn’t happen to notice if he was on set when the reflector moved, did you?”

“No, but that’s exactly the kind of sneaky trick he’d pull.”

Pete walks Romeo so he doesn’t stiffen up, while Jupe waits outside the make-up trailer for word of Trixie’s condition. He’s been pacing for forty minutes when a man in western regalia strides up to him. “Jones, what the hell is going on!” Jeremy Coltrane demands. 

Trixie’s manager used to be a cowboy star himself, back in the Thirties. Now, he raises horses and trains them for the movies, as well as representing a number of actors and actresses whose careers lean heavily on western dramas. Trixie is by far the most successful--if there’s one person who’s reliably looking out for her interests, it’s Jeremy. He also happens to be Patsy’s husband, which is probably how he’s already heard about today’s disasters.

His first words bear out that theory. “Patsy called me, said Romeo’s been acting up and threw Trixie. What happened and what are you doing about it?”

“Here’s what we know: Nobody’s seen a complete script for this picture and it looks to me like Hugenay is making it up as he goes along. The accidents may be a way to stop production, but we’re trying to figure out why. Snipe Thompson, that goon from the studio, has been hanging out on set schmoozing with Skinny Norris, the reporter--” He breaks off, because Coltrane is sure to bring up the matter of him and Trixie--and he doesn't want to push his luck.

“Thompson’s a bully,” Jeremy says, teeth clenched. “I used to know him when I was in the business. He did stunts, and he never cared who got hurt, man or beast, as long as it wasn’t him.”

“So, why would he be trying to get the picture shut down? It doesn’t make sense! Unless it’s to cover up the fact that Hugenay is incompetent, and if so, why hire him in the first place?” Jupe frowns. 

Pete, who’s joined them, Romeo ambling alongside him calmly as a big dog, interjects, “There was a story floating around about Hugenay, that he’s only doing this picture to work off a favor to the head of the studio. I don’t know what he owes them, but he’s not happy about it.”

“If he can’t afford to repay the debt, whatever it is, he probably doesn’t have money for passage back to Europe, either,” Jupe points out. “So it should be in his best interest to get the picture made and made well, to get him off the hook.”

“Unless he wants it to fail, just so he can say he tried and he can kiss the studio good-bye,” Jeremy muses. “But he’d still be broke, and it doesn’t make any sense--it’s a piddly little cowboy movie. Any halfway competent director could knock this out in a few weeks!”

“And it doesn’t explain Norris and Thompson conniving,” Pete adds, scowling. 

Just then, the door to make-up opens. A man carrying a small satchel emerges, followed by Patsy. “This is the studio doctor,” she introduces them, “Dr. Bonner, this is my husband, Jeremy. He’s Trixie’s manager. “Tell him what you told them in there.”

“I’ve recommended that Miss Belden take a day off to recover. Nothing appears to be broken, but she did hit her head, and you should keep an eye on her.”

“So, she can get back to work the day after tomorrow?” Jeremy verifies.

“Yes, unless she shows signs of something more serious, such as--”

As the doctor drones on with the signs of concussion, Jupe catches Pete’s eye and they retreat a few yards away. “That’s a break for us,” Pete says when they’re out of earshot. “It gives us a chance to find out who’s behind all this.”

“Not if it’s focused at Trixie, and she’s not on the set. It just gives them, whoever they are, to plan more mischief.” Jupiter tugs at his lower lip. 

“They’ve also tried to get to Romeo. But Trixie’s not going to want to use him as bait.”

“Better him than Trixie,” Jupe says grimly as the doctor strides away. “Jeremy, Patsy, I think the safest thing for you to do would be take Trixie out to your ranch tonight and keep her with you til she’s cleared to work again. Meanwhile, if Romeo is camped out at his stall here, we can keep tabs on him in case someone’s trying to get at her through him.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “I don’t like it. That horse is as much a part of the picture as Trixie is--he gets darn near as much fan mail as she does! If anything happened to him, it would break Trixie’s heart, and it could even wreck her career.”

Patsy is of another mind. “Yes, she’d be crushed, but finding another flashy-looking horse? Heck, we’ve got at least four out in the barn right now that would do the trick if it came to that. Because as much as I love old Romeo, I’d rather risk losing him than Trixie.” Hands on her hips, she stares at her husband, who looks from her to the grey horse.

“I see your point--but that doesn’t mean I like it. Okay, we’ll take Trixie home with us. You fellas make sure Romeo is as safe as she is.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to Romeo on our watch,” Jupe says with determination. “You can tell Trixie that for me.”

“I hope you’re right,” Pete says later, when they’re in the barn and he’s taken the saddle off and is rubbing the horse down. “I’d hate to see anything happen to Romeo.” The brush he’s using moves in lazy circles, and the grey horse stands quietly enjoying the grooming. “It’s just, there are so many things, sneaky little things that we have no way to catch…we can stop a frontal attack, anyone who wants to come in here and hurt him, but they could be setting up something else like that stunt with the reflector, or the rubber band.”

“I wish Bob would get to us with some results from his bright idea,” Jupe sighs. “We’re stuck here--as long as we’re baby-sitting Romeo, we can’t do any nosing around to find out what’s going on with Hugenay, Thompson and Norris. Something is definitely rotten in the state of Denmark!”

“I know, I know,” his friend agrees, using a soft rag to wipe dust from Romeo’s long dark stockings. “I’ve got a feeling they’re all in on it together, whatever ‘it’ is.”

“That’s the 64,000-dollar question.” Jupe stares at the saddle draped over the door. “We’d better make sure that’s secure,” he comments. “We’d look like idiots if Romeo was okay but they tampered with his gear.”

The afternoon stretches on. People come and go from the barn, where a lot of the horses that are being used in films currently shooting are kept. Romeo, who’s co-starred in a dozen films with Trixie, is a popular favorite, and Jupe and Pete are kept busy discouraging admirers of his from offering him unauthorized treats. “No, ma’am,” Pete tells one of the wranglers. “Not today. Orders of his vet.”

There’s not much doubt that Romeo understands that--the look of injured feelings he turns on Pete would be comical if the situation weren’t so serious. 

“I promise, when we get you though this and I’ll buy you a whole bushel of apples,” Pete promises. “Stop smirking, Jupe--you remember the poisoned apple in ‘Snow White’, don’t you? It wouldn’t even have to be poison--horses have very delicate guts, and they can’t puke. There are all kinds of things lying around the house that could make him awfully sick.”

As the shadows grow longer, they start a game of gin rummy on a bale of hay. The barn is warm and quiet. They’re both yawning. “We’ll have to take turns napping,” Jupe mutters sluggishly. “or we’ll never make it through the night.”

The desire to take a nap is quashed when a compact figure limps into the barn. Childhood polio has left its mark on him, but the boyish-looking young man balancing a stack of take-out containers and lugging a satchel full of paperwork is smiling broadly. Bob Andrews, their third partner, sets the food down on the hastily cleared bale and says, “I’ve got answers!”

“And food!” Pete says happily. “I had a sandwich back around noon, and that’s worn off.”

Jupiter already has a carton open and is plying a set of chopsticks. “You’re a lifesaver!” he says around a mouthful of pork and mushrooms. “I don’t know what I need more right now--a feast or a fresh perspective.”

“Have either of you guys ever heard of a guy called Lester Thompson?”

“AKA Snipe Thompson?” Jupe nods. “He’s a studio fixer. How did you learn about him?”

“Norris. You know what the family business in Rocky Beach is, don’t you?”

“Insurance!” Jupe is chagrined. “Of course! How did I miss that? He may be a so-called journalist, but his dad’s got the biggest insurance agency in the county!”

“So what did they do, get some kind of policy on the production?” Pete asks.

“They sure did. After all, it features a proven star with a major studio, no reason to think it wouldn’t be completed--but if it gets scratched, the policy pays out $200,000.”

“To Thompson?” At Bob’s nod, Jupe rubs his lower lip. “And he’s probably arranged to cut in Norris and Hugenay for their help. Norris doesn’t do anybody any favors and Hugenay just wants to get out of doing the film so he can go back to Europe.”

“Nice work,” Pete compliments him. “How did you work it out?”

“Our old pal Henrietta Larson works at the agency, and she can’t stand the Norrises. I took her to lunch and she was happy to spill the beans. Don’t ever make a redhead mad, that’s all I’m gonna say.” Bob grins and taps the satchel. “She even made me photocopies of the documents!”

Once the remains of their meal have been cleared away, Jupe examines the purloined paperwork. “That sure spells it out,” he says with a low whistle. “Now we’ve got to get this information to someone who can act on it. We have to go over the conspirators’ heads--way over their heads. Bob, can you stay here for a while while Pete catches some shut eye?”

“Where are you going?” Pete wants to know.

“I don’t personally know the head of Monument Studios,” Jupe admits, “but I know someone who does.”

An hour later, after changing into clean clothes he keeps in a bag in his car, Jupiter rings the bell of an elegantly appointed house in the Hollywood Hills.

The lady of the house beams at the sight of him. “Jupiter, how lovely to see you! It’s been too long. Join us for dinner, won’t you? We were just having a little aperitif….”

Jupe smiles. Chinese food is so ephemeral--dinner here, though, is sure to be more substantial. “Thanks, Alma, I’d enjoy that. How have you been?”

He follows her through the house to the living room, which opens onto a terrace overlooking the sprawl of Los Angeles below them. The horizon is suffused with blues and pinks, like velvet embellished with the gaudy sequins of lights, some lining the boulevards in rows, others strewn at random to the distant horizon. 

Outlined against the French doors stands a man, holding a cocktail glass in one hand and gazing toward the sunset. His profile is familiar.

“Mr. Hitchcock,” Jupe says deferentially.

“Mr. Jones. I gather I’m in a position to repay the favor you once did me?”

One of Jupe’s earliest cases had involved the disappearance of the film director’s chauffeur. Worthington, ordinarily the soul of discrete service, had ‘borrowed’ the Rolls Royce while the Hitchcocks were out of town. Returning to find it and their driver missing, they’d put out an alert. It was Jupiter who’d tracked the man to Santa Anita, where his drinking and gambling had gotten him into trouble. Jupiter managed to negotiate a deal where no charges would be pressed and saw to it that the chauffeur and car got home safely.

“If you know the head of Monument Pictures, then yes, sir. I need to meet with him, personally, as soon as possible.”

“Nothing easier. Alma, set another place for dinner.” Hitchcock lumbers over to his desk and thumbs through an address book. Picks up the phone and dials. “JW? Hitch here. Are you available for dinner this evening? Yes, I know, rather short notice, I’m afraid, but I think you might find it advantageous.”

There’s the faint sound of the person on the other end. Hitchcock listens patiently.

“We’re having prime rib…yes, of course with Yorkshire pudding, do you think I’m uncivilized? Alma, how long--twenty minutes. Come on over, there’s plenty. And a very nice trifle for dessert. Yes, there’s brandy. Really, JW--what kind of savage do you think I am?”

He’s chuckling as he hangs up. “There you go, he’ll be here for dinner. What’s this all about, anyway?”

“I have information proving that some unscrupulous characters are trying to get a film shut down so they can collect insurance for the cancellation.”

“How nefarious!” Alma says, shaking her head. “Drink, Jupiter?”

He accepts a ginger ale. This is no time to get pixilated, not when he has to convince a studio head that there’s skulduggery afoot. He and the Hitchcocks make small talk until the studio mogul arrives.

Clearly, he and Alfred Hitchcock are good friends. They make an interesting contrast--the rotund director and the tall, craggy studio president, one speaking genteel British English, the other in tones of purest New York. Alma gets a hug and a peck on the cheek and is presented with some gardenias wrapped in a wet towel. 

Jupe feels himself relax. Calling in the favor from Hitchcock had definitely been the right call. So he listens attentively over dinner as JW talks about the early days of Monument Studios, during the era of silent pictures. “I started with ten acres of dried up farmland and built it up to nearly five hundred acres,” he reminisces. “Made a nickelodeon called ‘The Dry-Gulching of Hank Hastings’, a little one-reel epic than ran all of four minutes long…made it with a borrowed camera and a couple nags I rented from my neighbor. Cost me peanuts. Made almost $5,000, which was real money in those days….”

“You’re really seen a lot of changes in the movie business, haven’t you?” Jupe asks respectfully. “From silent movies to talkies, from black and white to Technicolor.”

The older man, cuts a bite of his prime rib. “I’ve seen a lot, alright, and it hasn’t been easy. The transition to talking pictures, for instance--that ruined quite a few people--they had talent, they simply didn’t have voices--audiences didn't want to hear heavy foreign accents or stammering.... I can’t begin to count how many others were brought down by their vices. Or accidents---” He stops. Sets down his cutlery. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment--”

“Of course,” Alma assures him. “There’s a powder room off the foyer. Not the door under the stairs, the other one.” After he’s departed, she says to Jupe in a low voice, “His wife was bitten by a rattlesnake during location filming…she didn’t make it. It’s been twenty years, and he still misses her very much.”

“Twenty years?” Hitchcock interjects. “I’d miss you if it was twenty years or two hundred.”

“He’s such a romantic!” Alma says lightly. 

“At any rate….uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,” her husband muses. “JW’s a good sort. He wants to make budget pictures that will appeal to the masses, and he’s succeeded. Rest assured, he won’t sit still for any shenanigans.”

When he returns to the table, the mogul turns to Jupe and says, “So, what are you, a screenwriter?”

Jupe blinks. “No, sir.”

“Really? Because here I get this invitation from Hitch out of the blue, and I’ve known him long enough to know he’s got something u his sleeve. And here you are…you keep looking at that satchel over there, I figure it’s your screenplay and you want me to read it.”

“You’re half right,” Jupiter tells him. “It isn’t a screenplay, but you do need to read it. I have proof that one of your executives is masterminding a plan to have one of your current pictures shut down so he can collect an insurance payout for non-completion. I’ve got documents from the insurance company; this isn’t just conjecture. It’s documented.”

“Let’s move this into the living room,” suggests Alma. “We can have coffee and dessert and you can pore over your paperwork.” They proceed to the Hitchcock’s ivory and gold sitting room, where Jupiter produces Bob’s photocopies.

“Snipe Thompson!” JW looks up from the papers, scowling. “I’ve known the man since the Twenties! He used to be a helluva stunt rider--sorry, Alma! He was good at what he did, til he hurt his back. I gave him a job, because I take care of my people…and he turned around and did this?” The man is angry and baffled.

“The way I heard it, other riders were wary of him,” Jupe says cautiously, remembering Jeremy’s outburst. “He had a reputation with them for not caring who got hurt as long as he came out of it looking good.”

“The day my wife died,” JW says tight-lipped, “We were shooting an oater on the back forty. The script called for her horse to run away and him to go in pursuit. They rode away out of sight down the canyon. Snipe came back alone, said Minna’s horse pulled up lame and she was walking him back. We shot two short takes with Snipe until the light started to go. Still no sign of Minna. We found her lying in the road, snakebit…funny thing, though--when we caught her horse. It wasn’t limping. Kinda makes me wonder when she got bit, and if Thompson knew about it when he came back to the set.”

“No way of proving it at this late date, I’m afraid,” Hitchcock laments. 

“And now he’s in cahoots to rob from you--Trixie Belden is one of your top talents--she’s big box office!--but his machinations are on track to ruin her reputation. Not to mention, Trixie and Romeo is like Roy Rogers and Trigger--they’re a team. Snipe is willing to harm either one of them, he truly doesn’t care.”

“It’s late tonight. I’m going to leave messages for them to come to my office to discuss the picture,” JW says. “They’ll think I mean to cancel _Desert Melody_ \--they’ll find out otherwise.”

“What about Trixie?” Jupe asks anxiously. “And the picture?”

“You said she was told to take tomorrow off? All right then, that gives me plenty of time to line up a different director between now and then. I have someone qualified in mind. I’ll be damned if I throw the towel in on this one! I may not be able to prove anything about Minna’s death, but I can certainly hit him where it hurts. And finishing this picture will do just that!

“Mr. Jones, thank you for your help. I don’t know what Coltrane is paying you, but I’ll double it for the service you’ve done me, and if at any time you need anything, feel free to call on me.” The older man’s face his stern, then he smiles. “Such as any screenplays you may have lying around!”

Jupe drives back to the studio, vindication as sweet as the Fruit Stripe gum he’s chewing. They’ve figured out who’s been trying to sabotage _Desert Melody_ , the miscreants are going to be in the soup as far as the studio goes--fraud charges are certainly a possibility--Trixie should be safe after this; all they have to do is keep Romeo the same way until everyone responsible has been dealt with.

He saunters into the barn with the good news, and catches his breath. There’s no sign of Pete and Bob-- _or Romeo_.

His first act is to look inside the stall in case the horse is lying down. Empty.

There’s sound coming from nearby. Looking into the adjoining stall, Pete lays sprawled across several bales of hay, snoring.

“Ten more minutes,” Pete mumbles when Jupe shakes his shoulder.

“Wake up!” Jupiter commands. “Bob and Romeo are missing!”

Pete raises his head and blinks like an owl. “What time is it?”

Pete’s never been good for much first thing in the morning--or awakened from a sound sleep. “Nearly midnight.”

Pete sits up. Looks around the stall. “You were going to see Mr. Hitchcock,” he recalls. “To see if he knew anybody at Monument.”

“That’s right. What happened here after I left?”

“Bob had a pad, he was making notes or something.” Pete yawns. “He told me to catch a nap for a few hours. That way he could nap later and be fairly fresh when he had to go to work.”

“And he was on the bale across from Romeo’s stall where we were earlier?”

“That’s right.” He starts. “Wait--they’re missing? We’ve got to find them!”

He jumps up and runs into the aisle outside the stall and skids to a halt, almost knocking Bob over. “Whoa, there, take it easy!” his friend scolds. “You almost made me drop the coffee--I got two--sorry, Jupe--if I’d known you were back, I’d’ve gotten you one, too.”

Bob is carrying two Styrofoam cups and seems perfectly calm and unharmed.

“Romeo is missing!” Pete blurts.

“No, he’s not,” Bob protests. “Jeremy came out a little while ago, said the more he thought about leaving Romeo here, the less he liked it and he wanted to bring him home. He loaded him up, and I went and got coffee. I figured you’d need it to drive home if we don’t have to be here all night.”

Pete accepts the cup. “Okay, so we can head home--as soon as Jupe fills us in on how things went with Mr. Hitchcock.”

“I had dinner with him…and his wife…and JW Frayne, the president of Monument.”

Bob’s eyes widen. Pete whistles. “What did he say?”

“That the people involved will be ‘dealt with’ and he’s going to appoint another director to finish the film. No, he didn’t explain what he meant by ‘dealt with’--I don’t know if it’s going to involve lawyers and cops or if he’s going to put them all on a slow boat to China. As long as Trixie is safe and none of those guys profit from their scheme, I don’t care.”

“Let’s get back to Rocky Beach,” Bob yawns. “I have a meeting with my editor in the morning that I’d like to be awake for.”

“If Romeo’s not here, and Trixie isn’t shooting tomorrow, do you need me?” Pete asks, echoing Bob’s yawn. “A quiet day surfing would be great for a change.”

Jupe is saved the need to answer as the sound of boot-heels clomping on the board floor of the barn catches their attention.

Jeremy Coltrane has blood on the side of his head. His eyes aren’t quite focused. “I’m glad you’re still here,” he says, voice unsteady. “They got him.”

“Romeo?”

“I was taking the service road out--it’s easier than the main studio gate at this hour. I made it a little ways past the covered bridge when a wheel fell off the trailer. Plop, fell right off…” He shakes his head, leaning against the wall of Romeo’s stall. “I got out to take a look….” He touches the side of his head, smearing the blood there. “When I came to, the trailer was open and there was no sign of Romeo.”

“They’re getting desperate,” Jupiter says grimly. “We’ve finally got something we can report to the police--assault and theft.”

“If we can find them,” Jeremy points out.

“Unless they’ve had a heads-up and rabbited, they’ll be in JW Frayne’s office bright and early tomorrow morning, thinking he’s going to cancel production.”

Jeremy stares at him. “Now why in tarnation didn’t I think of that?” he demands. “I’ve known ol’ JW since he was shooting nickelodeons on his first ten acres of land! Not that I’ve seen him since…hell, probably not since Minna’s funeral.”

“Let’s get that cleaned up,” Pete says practically. “I’ve got a first air kit in my truck, let me go grab it.”

“I hope there some aspirin in it,” Jeremy mutters as Pete exits the barn. “I’ve got one helluva headache. I must be getting old and slowing down, or I would’ve thought of going to JW way before this. I came up in the business with him--we were putting out cowboy pictures when you were knee-high…me and him and Minna…”

Jeremy sits on one of the bales while Pete cleans and bandages the cut on his head. “Looks like somebody was throwing rocks,” Pete says, dabbing on antiseptic.

“There’s a difference in the mindset of someone who throws rocks, as opposed to walking up and hitting you over the head with a club. They’re a coward at heart. Show me where the trailer is,” Jupiter says. “We can take my car. Just past the covered bridge, you said?”

It isn’t easy to spot clues by torchlight, but Jupe scans the area around the rear of the horse van. Jeremy’s boot-prints are there, and so are others. “Those look to me like the same prints that were on the set this morning,” he muses. “We tentatively concluded that they matched Norris’s oxfords, which certainly fits in with the cowardly strike-from-a-distance attack. However, we can conclude that our villains aren’t aware of the impending meeting with Mr. Frayne and they’re still trying to shut down production. Come on!”

Perplexed, the others rejoin him in the sedan. He gives the horse van a wide berth, under the presumption that the police may want to gather evidence. He continues to the chain-link gate that defines the perimeter of the movie ranch and again surveys the ground with his flashlight.

“It looks like the last person to open this gate was Jeremy,” he deduces, indicating the marks of cowboy boot-prints in the dust. “So wherever Romeo is, he’s still on the lot somewhere.”

“Someone’s going to have to guard the gate to help make sure he stays here,” Pete says with a sigh. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“I’ll send reinforcements,” Jupe promises. 

There’s a pay phone near the barn; Jupiter knows that alerting police rather that studio security is risky, but Snipe Thompson has been with the studio for years--he doesn’t dare take the chance of word getting back to him. Or worse yet, covering it up for him.

By sunrise, multiple cops have begun examining the stranded trailer and a gimlet-eyed pair of officers are checking every single vehicle coming or attempting to leave through the service gate.

Bob departs to his job. Pete and Jupiter try to follow the trail left by Romeo and the man with smooth-soled shoes.

“The trouble is, this place is huge,” Pete complains as they trudge across the covered bridge. “They could stash him almost anywhere--from a vacant soundstage to somebody’s trailer.”

“We’ve got to find him,” Jeremy says. His tanned face is paler than usual, but he refuses to rest while Romeo is missing. “If anything happens to that horse, Trixie will cry for a week. At least.”

“Wait, look!” Pete points. “Those shoe prints again ! Looks like he’s leading the horse that way!” He gestures to an area occupied by equipment and technicians--but no horses.

Beyond the arc of cameras is a weather-beaten looking shack. Everyone is concentrating on it, and Jupiter overhears someone say, “Sharpen focus on the shack, we’ll cut away to the dynamite in post. Let’s get this right the first time, people. The carpenters don’t want to have to build a new one if we don’t get the shot. Okay, and--”

“Cut!” Jupe bellows, hurrying forward to join the group. “Don’t blow it! Don’t blow it!”

“Dad!” Pete calls out, and one of the men turns around.

“How dare you interrupt filming like that?” the director snarls.

“We need to search that shed before you blow it,” Jupe says. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

Jack Crenshaw joins them. He’s a special-effects technician, and now he looks from the group to the shed. “I wouldn’t--that shack is stuffed with enough black powder to turn those boards to sawdust.”

“I’ll go,” says Jeremy. “Anything happens, you let Patsy know--”

“Nope,” Pete contradicts him. “Wait here.”

“Be careful!” Jack calls as his son dashes across the open field. “If you get blown up, how would I explain it to your mother?”

Pete races toward the shack. It’s about 10’x12’, more than big enough to hide a horse In. His blood runs cold at the thought of what could happen to Romeo--or him-if the detonation occurs.

The crudely-built door to the shack creaks as he opens it. Careful…all it would take is a spark to blow them both to Kingdom Come. Romeo looks at him inquisitively. He’s been gnawing on a piece of timber, but otherwise seems perfectly okay. Thanks god he’s a placid, well-behaved horse--if he was nervous and given to stomping and kicking, he might have accidentally triggered the explosion.

“Come on, boy, let’s get you back to the barn and give you a good breakfast,” he says, untying the lead rope from the support it’s wound around. “That’s not fit to eat, believe me.” As soon as they're outside, Pete vaults onto the horse's bare back and urges him into a lope toward the camera.

Jupe breaths a sigh of relief as the two jog across the field to the crew. “What the hell?” the director chokes. “That’s _Romeo_. What was he doing out there?”

“I’m his trainer,” Jeremy tells him. “Last night, I got bush-whacked and Romeo disappeared. We followed the tracks here. Just in time, by the looks of it.”

"We're lucky the person who swiped him didn't get up and ride him," Pete points out. "If we hadn't had his shoe-prints to track, there's no way we could've picked his hoof-prints out from all the other horses on the lot."

The director is ashen-faced. “Jack rigged the shed yesterday before we left--we didn’t check it this morning. My god, what a catastrophe that would’ve been!”

Jupiter consults his watch as they head back toward the barn. “Can you guys keep an eye on our star while I go see what’s happening at Frayne’s meeting with Hugenay and Thompson?”

Driving through the grounds toward the cluster of bungalows that house the studio’s executives, Jupiter reflects on the close call they just had with Romeo. It hasn’t escaped his notice, either, that in running into the shack, Pete could have just as easily been harmed. This case has turned out to be a lot more dangerous than he’d expected when he agreed to protect Trixie.

“I’m Jupiter Jones,” he says to the receptionist in Frayne's outer office. 

“Oh yes--Mr. Frayne is expecting you. He said to show you right in.”

The group already gathered stares as he enters. Hugenay is seated across from the studio head, while Thompson is pacing the floor behind the director. To Jupe’s surprise, Norris is there, too, leaning against a bookcase and smirking.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Jupiter greets them. “I hope I haven’t missed anything important?”

“You!” says Hugenay from the chair in front of JW's desk. “You’re that detective--tell him! Tell Mr. Frayne what a disaster _Desert Melody_ has turned into!”

Jupe would laugh, but it’s been a long night. He’s been awake now for more than twenty-four hours; he’s not feeling especially playful. Not after the attack on Jeremy and Romeo’s close call. Particularly not with the baleful glare Snipe Thompson is aiming at him, or the presence of his arch-nemesis lurking like a buzzard.

“Excuse me, but the reason _Desert Melody_ is having problems is due to certain people having a vested interest in its non-completion.” Jupiter shoots a glance in Norris’s direction. “in the form of a substantial insurance policy which would pay out if production were canceled.”

“And I can assure you, gentlemen, that will not happen.” JW Frayne’s tone is steely. “You, Mr. Hugenay, are fired. You will never work at Monument Studios again, and if I allow word of this scheme of yours to get out, you’ll never work for any other studio, either.”

“What? I never--!”

“Yeah, right!” Norris drawls. “That policy didn’t draw itself up. But don’t worry, boys--without that fancy horse, they’ll have to scrap the picture--and that horse has grown wings like Pegasus by now.”

“What’s this about Romeo?” Frayne inquires, still unaware of the night’s events.

“Last night, someone tampered with the horsebox Romeo was being transported in. Then they knocked out Jeremy Coltrane and made off with Romeo.”

“It’d be cheaper to cut your losses, JW,” Snipe Thompson speaks for the first time.

“I don’t care if I have to reshoot every last frame of _Desert Melody_!” Frayne declares. “Horse or no horse, I’m not going to let a gang of scoundrels get away with picking my pocket. I’ve spoken with the studio’s lawyers, and they’re still compiling a list of the possible charges, to which they can evidently add assault and grand theft. Needless to say, Snipe, you’re fired and permanently banned from the studio. As for your friend,” the mogul aims a disgusted grimace at Norris “he’s banned as well, and may be named as a co-conspirator.”

There’s a knock on the door, followed by the appearance of several husky members of studio security. Jupiter learns later that a buzzer under Frayne's desk summoned them. “These men are to be escorted from the premises and not readmitted at any time, for any reason." the mogul says crisply. "They are banned in perpetuity! Understand? They are personas non grata.”

“Good news, sir,” Jupiter says when the conspirators have gone. “We recovered Romeo, but I thought it better not to say so in front of them. It was a close call--” He describes the shack being prepared for demolition, and Pete’s heroic dash to get the horse out.

“It looks like I ought to have a talk with my old pal Jeremy…I remember when he was your age…he could ride anything. He was one of the best I’ve ever worked with…and if it wasn’t for him hiring you, I’d be looking at the cancellation of _Desert Melody_ \--and I’d have no idea what was behind it.” He shakes his head. “Hugenay may have wanted to get back to Europe, but the other two--what would’ve stopped them from trying the same scam on another picture? My god, they could have eventually brought down the entire studio! Jones, I’m in your debt.”

“Romeo is safe, and Trixie should be able to return to work tomorrow,” Jupiter points out. “The trouble is, what Hugenay was doing was filming as many shots with the potential to go wrong as he could. He wasn’t trying to shoot a picture--there’s no script!--just a lot of stunts and no plot.”

“Yes, I’ve confiscated the raw footage and given it to the new director to revue. That’s what he’s doing today, looking through what’s already been shot and thinking about how to make it make sense. It doesn’t have to be worthy of John Ford, it just has to be coherent and called _Desert Melody_.” The old man smiles. “And given the advance publicity its had, I’m sure it’ll be another _monumental_ success!”

By the time he gets back to the barn, Jupe’s lack of sleep is wearing on him. That’s why the lack of Pete, Jeremy and Romeo makes him stop and shake his head. _Again?!_

Both the stalls they've been occupying are empty. With a sigh, he goes out to the parking lot beyond the barn. Pete’s truck is still there, he notes, and what do you know? Pete’s inside, snoring.

“This is becoming monotonous,” he declares to no one in particular, and raps briskly on the truck window with his knuckles. “Where are Jeremy and Romeo?”

“Patsy came and got them in their spare trailer. I figured I’d catch a nap and wait for you.” Pete squints at him. “No offense, buddy--but you look worse than I feel, and that’s saying something.”

“I’ve been up since six a.m. yesterday…no naps…and it’s been a really long day.”

“Catch some shut-eye,” Pete advises with an ill-concealed yawn. “I’m going to.” He pulls his ball-cap down over his eyes, conversation over.

The idea of napping in his car in the heat of the parking lot doesn’t appeal to him. Jupiter returns to the shadowy barn and settles down on one of the well-trafficked hay bales. He’s barely stretched out full-length and closed his eyes before he, too, is snoring.

When he opens his eyes again, Jupe knows at once that it’s late afternoon. He’s spent enough time in the barn lately that he can tell from the angle of the slanting golden light that he’s lost the morning and much of the afternoon…according to his wristwatch, it’s just past four o’clock. He sits up, leans against the rough boards, trying to assemble his thoughts.

He should check in with Trixie. Not that he doubts Jeremy and Patsy are looking after her, but because he’s begun to feel responsible for her. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since Norris’s ‘scoop’, and a lot has happened. 

A call to Jeremy Coltrane’s ranch gets the manager on the line. “Patsy fussed about my head and made me let our doctor look at it. Like I never got banged up before!” He chuckles. “Bless her, she’s too good a woman for an old muleskinner like me--but don’t tell her that, she hasn’t noticed yet.”

“What about Trixie?” How’s she doing?”

“Ah, she and Patsy are out right now…they’re at the studio--”

“They’re here at Monument?” Ruefully, Jupe notes that his spare clothes are rumpled and have wisps of hay clinging to them--and he badly needs a shave.

“No, the recording studio. She’s rehearsing the title song for the picture. It’s Sundance recording studio on Sepulveda.”

On the way there, Jupe stops to buy a clean shirt and finds a barber shop where he can get a quick shave. He leaves looking and feeling better. Morale bolstered, he makes his way to Sundance Records, where he finds Patsy in a glassed-in booth, watching Trixie, who’s interacting with a young man and woman strumming guitars. 

The three of them are getting along like old friends. They’re Bob and Barbara Hubbard, Patsy explains. They’ve written and performed the music for Trixie’s last several pictures.

She’s not kidding; Jupe is startled to discover that Barbara’s rich alto is the voice he’s used to associating with Trixie’s singing. Trixie’s own singing voice isn’t bad--she and Barbara are working on Trixie’s lead-in to the point where Barb will take over--but it doesn’t command attention the way the professional singer’s does.

“I wanted to let you know,” he says to her when the Hubbards take a break, “We discovered who’s been sabotaging the film, and why.” He reveals finding out about the insurance, and that JW Frayne is taking steps. “They won’t be bothering you any more.”

“Wow, that’s a relief!” she says, a dimple at the corner of her mouth. “ I’m glad I won’t have to keep looking over my shoulder for bad guys. And I was so upset when Jeremy told me they kidnapped Romeo--every if it was just for an hour or so! What kind of lowlife would do that to a poor, innocent horse? I’d sooner they kidnapped me!”

“I’m glad they didn’t--Romeo is a lot bigger and harder to hide!”

Startled, Trixie blinks at him, then laughs. “That’s true,” she admits. "And he came out of it okay.”

Jupe wisely doesn’t mention the rigged shack. Jeremy may have omitted the details, and he doesn’t want to renew her anxieties. There’s no one else in the corridor, so he risks asking, “What about us? We haven’t really had a chance to talk about…that picture.”

Her sunny face clouds. “I think we’d better cool it,” she says, not meeting his gaze. “It isn’t that I don’t have feelings for you, but I can’t risk my career on it. Not with everything that’s riding on this picture.” 

She stops. Looks like those blue eyes are going to overflow with tears. “You know this town,” she continues after a moment. “There aren’t a lot of actresses who get top billing, and they have a limited shelf-life. There are always more pretty young things coming along. I’ve got a few good years left, if I’m lucky--” She sniffles “and I want them, every minute of them.”

He can’t argue, because she isn’t wrong. If there’s one thing his own short-lived career has taught him, it’s how fickle show business can be.

“Perfectly understandable,” he agrees. “And you know where to find me, if you ever change your mind. So, what now?”

Patsy enters in time to hear his question. “I was just on the phone with Jeremy,” she informs them. “A courier just dropped off a script for Trixie, so you’re going to be busy tonight, kiddo. You have an eight o’clock call time to sit down with the new director--he’s going to be talking with the crew before that--and probably rehearsals most of the day. Jupe, Jeremy says he still wants you on set, just in case those scoundrels have any bright ideas.”

“An actual script,” Jupiter muses. “It sounds like JW didn’t waste any time--or his new director didn’t. That’s fast work. It sounds like _Desert Melody_ is back in business.”

Arriving at the backlot the following morning after a good night's sleep, Jupiter can’t help contrasting it with the set a couple days earlier. There’s a buzz of activity that Hugenay’s crew had never achieved.

It’s just seven-thirty--he wanted to be able to greet Trixie’s contingent--so he’s surprised to be hailed by name--and even more startled by what follows.

“Jones! You’re early. Good--here’s a script, read through the lines for ‘Rafael’. We’ll be doing rehearsals when Trixie gets here.” The speaker is a tall, lean man with red hair. Green eyes meet his as he hands Jupe the script, _Desert Melody_ typed on its cover.

“Rehearsal? I’m not sure I understand, I’m here to keep Trixie safe--”

“Which is exactly what you’ll be doing,” the redhead counters. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, the way he’s taken charge… “We can’t finish this movie without a love interest. Since you and Trixie have already been…associated…with one another, if you step into the role, any other activity can be overlooked as entirely innocent rehearsal.” 

It _does_ make sense, and if Trixie hadn’t made the decision to cool things down, it would be the perfect excuse for them to carry on with their romance. What’s she going to think now?

Presumably, this guy is the new director. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and polished shoes that are going to be covered in dust by lunchtime. He’s maybe a couple years older than he is, Jupe figures, and exudes confidence. And there’s that nagging sense of familiarity….

“How do you know I can act my way out of a paper bag?” Jupe asks bluntly.

The redhead has a dazzling smile. “Because you’ve been doing it since you were four years old?”

Jupe’s jaw drops, along with the penny. “Orphan Jim!” he blurts, belatedly recognizing one of his _Wee Rogues_ co-stars. “What are you doing here?”

Jim chuckles and extends his hand. Jupe shakes it, stunned. “My uncle wanted me to take over directing this beast and getting it in the can.”

“Your uncle is JW Frayne?”

“Great-uncle, actually, but he raised me after my folks died. It wasn’t publicized during my _Wee Rogues_ days--he didn’t want me to have any special treatment.”

“It’s good to see you again.”

“It is. We’ll have a reunion later--right now, bury your nose in that script and I’ll see you at the cast meeting.”

Head whirling, Jupe takes a seat on a bench against the barn that has a good view of the parking lot and cracks the script.

It isn’t as thick as usual--Jupe finds meticulous notes about inserting various stunt footage already shot--but there is an actual plot tying it together. Trixie has a cantina at a stagecoach stop, Rafael is in charge of the horses. He has a mysterious past, Trixie is attracted to him, but suspects he’s been tipping off a group of bandits that have be robbing stagecoaches. She finds out that during his absences, he’s actually hunting for a lost treasure with the help of an old map. Together, they thwart the stagecoach bandits and in the process, find one of the landmarks on the treasure map. In the final scene, they decide to seek the treasure together, kiss, fade to black.

For something thrown together in less than 24 hours, it isn’t bad, Jupiter admits. It makes use of the footage from Hugenay, Trixie gets to be winsome and plucky, which she’s good at, and the romantic angle…yeah, he can do it. Even if it’s only play-acting, even if Trixie is serious about their relationship being over. God, it’s going to be great to do some acting again!

When his career in _Wee Rogues_ was cut short by his parents’ deaths, he’d been catapulted from the land of make-believe into a more reality-based life…he’s never let himself admit how much he missed it. And now his old co-star Jim has given it back to him, however temporarily.

He looks up at the sound of a car’s doors slamming in the parking lot. Trixie and the Coltranes are walking toward the building serving as the production office--it’s labelled “Undertaker. Bodies Taken in and Done.”. Someone has a sense of humor.

He catches up with them before they reach the door. “Have you seen the script?” he asks, holding up his copy.

“I’ve been reading it all night,” Trixie says grimly. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I know all my lines yet.”

“Don’t worry, the director told me it’s just going to be rehearsals today.”

“That’s good,” Jeremy says, brows furrowed, “because I’m not letting her back in front of a camera until she’s cleared by Doc Bonner.”

“It was just a little bump on the head, Papa Bear,” Trixie says with a grin. “I’m fine.”

“Shoot, I’ve seen you get up and ride with a busted wing!” Patsy interjects. “You’re gonna see a doctor, girl. Don’t fuss!”

“Miss Belden!” Jim greets her as they enter the building. “What a pleasure it is to meet you at last! I’m a huge fan of your work. I’m James Winthrop Frayne the second--but you can call me Jim.”

Trixie blushes as he kisses her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jim. I’m Trixie.”

“Mr. Coltrane, good to meet you. I understand you knew my uncle back when he was directing? You’ll have to let me in on his trade secrets. This is my first solo directorial effort, and I’ll listen to any sensible advice.”

Jeremy shakes the offered hand. “Treat your talent good, your horses even better and keep an eye out for horse apples underfoot. May I present my wife, Patsy, who is also Trixie’s double?”

“Mrs. Coltrane, it’s a pleasure.” Jim doesn’t try to kiss her hand, just nods and turns to Trixie. “Let’s go in here and do a read-through, shall we?”

The interior of the ‘funeral parlor’ is two rooms, the one they entered with a desk and filing cabinets, currently unoccupied, the other has a long rectangular table with chairs around it. Jim sees them seated, offering coffee and donuts before getting down to business.

“I’ve asked Jupiter to read for the part of Rafael,” he tells them. Trixie’s eyebrows skyrocket, but she says nothing. “He may not have done any acting lately, but I think he can do justice to the part.”

“That’s not what I hired him for!” Jeremy says angrily, glaring at Jupe.

“This is entirely my idea,” Jim says smoothly, “and I think it’s a good idea--to remove any taint of impropriety.” There’s a moment of silence as he allows them to absorb the implications. “Let’s begin with Scene Three where Rafael comes into the cantina--”

They run through all the scenes several times, including blocking. Jim lets them go at noon. Jupe is scheduled to go to wardrobe to be measured for his costumes. Trixie is heading to see the studio doctor for clearance. As they depart the production office, Jim is giving his secretary, who arrived during the rehearsals, his notes for her to type up.

Driving back to Rocky Beach, Jupe is giddy with the success of his day. He slouches into their apartment with an exaggerated sigh. “Wait til I tell you!” he says to Pete, who looks up from the sports page with mild curiosity. “The new director is Orphan Jim--the leader of the Wee Rogues--he’s JW Frayne’s nephew! And…wait for it! He’s cast _me_ as Trixie’s love interest in the movie!”

Pete stares at him, newspaper in one hand, beer in the other. “Leading man? You haven’t been in front of a camera in what, fifteen years, and now you’re the male lead?”

Jupe helps himself to a beer. “It was Jim’s idea--so the publicity from Norris’s picture can be used against him as legit publicity--and can’t be used against Trixie. She has her image to maintain, but this way, it can be written off as rehearsing with her co-star. So maybe we don't have to cool things off after all. Isn’t it brilliant?”

“I don’t know…” Pete shakes his head. “Maybe it’s a little too brilliant.”

“Too brilliant? What’s that supposed to mean? Look, Trixie’s a professional, I’m a professional. We'll make it look good. We’ve rehearsed, everything went fine. The bad guys are out of the picture. What could go wrong?”

“You should know better than to ask questions like, ‘What could go wrong?’” Pete tells him the next morning as he hands him a copy of the _Hollywood Reporter_.

Jupe has had a cup of coffee, he’s dressed and ready to go to the studio as soon as he finishes his toast. With a sick sense of foreboding, Jupe takes it and looks at the picture.

At least she isn’t kissing him, is his first thought as he stares at it. Instead, Trixie and Jim Frayne are seated at a banquette, heads together, laughing at something. He feels a wrench--for a moment, he can hear her silvery laugh in his ears--then he forces himself to read the accompanying text.

_A NIGHT ON THE TOWN--Spotted at the Brown Derby last night were Miss Trixie Belden and James Winthrop Frayne II. She’s the cowgirl darling of the matinee crowds, he’s the heir apparent to Monument Studios. Reportedly, he’s directing her latest picture, **Desert Melody** after the ouster of Euro-talent Victor Hugenay. Does this signal the end of her romance with co-star Jupiter Jones? Only time will tell, but she and young Frayne were looking awfully chummy!_

Jupiter looks away, coffee turning to acid in his stomach. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, pal,” Pete advises him. “Facts are facts, and the fact is, he can do a lot more for her career than you can.”

“And I still have to pretend to fall for her. And kiss her.” Jupe sighs. "Well, they call it acting for a reason."

“At least now she’s safe, thanks to us,” Pete reminds him. “But don’t break your heart over her--it’s like I told you: there’s always a dame.”

…

**Author's Note:**

> I don't rule out the possibility of more, if this is well-received. But it took me about six months to crank this one out, so...we'll see.


End file.
